


Preserve (verb): to maintain something in its original or existing state; keep safe from harm or injury

by KattsEyeDemon, seekeronthepath



Series: Kattseye & Seeker Collabs [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek's spleen is showing, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, LITERALLY, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining Derek, Pre-Slash, passive suicidal behaviour, self-destructive behaviour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 21:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9517532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KattsEyeDemon/pseuds/KattsEyeDemon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekeronthepath/pseuds/seekeronthepath
Summary: Derek has showed up to Stiles' room bleeding one too many times; Stiles confronts him about it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: Please read the tags. Stiles challenges Derek about his willingness to put himself in danger and let himself be hurt. Nothing too angsty, but it's definitely there.

Stiles wished he could say that this was the first time Derek had slipped through his bedroom window, covered in blood. It wasn't even the fifth time it had happened. Over the last few years, Stiles had genuinely lost count. "My dad's home this time!" he hissed, hurrying to shut his door. "Jesus, Derek, you have the worst timing."

"Thought...he...knew," Derek panted, eyes red and pained as he watched Stiles hurry through the room.

"That doesn't mean I want him to see you bleeding everywhere when he just got home!" Stiles objected, urging Derek over to the bed and making him sit down. "What the fuck happened, you've practically been disemboweled!"

"Omega. Tracked and...confronted. Ended up...two of...them," Derek managed to say. He had one arm pressed against his stomach, the other shaking as he tried to shrug his jacket off.

"Jesus Christ, let me get a towel," Stiles said, dragging a box out from under the bed. "Lie down and let me handle it, okay? Think non-bleedy thoughts."

"Thought it...was...England..." Derek tried to joke, coughing with a soft groan as he flopped back.

"That's if I wanted you to just put up with me," Stiles explained, folding up the towel and pressing it down over Derek's entire abdomen, Jesus. "I need you to help me. Keep pressure on that and think about not bleeding."

Derek pressed on the towel, groaning softly. "Not bleeding...easier than it sounds."

"Other way round, doofus," Stiles said quietly, easing Derek's jacket out from under him. "Give me your hand so I can get this all the way off." At least the leather was a reasonable protection from slashing wounds. 

Derek forced his claws in and held his hand out. "They were...stronger than I...thought."

"No shit," Stiles muttered, tugging the sleeve off gently. Derek looked a lot worse without it - more vulnerable, and more damaged. His shirt was unsalvageable. "Yeah, I'm getting the scissors," Stiles decided. 

"My favorite...shirt," Derek grumbled. Actually it was one of Stiles' bigger ones that he'd stolen. But it was his favorite.

"Yeah, cause it didn't have blood on it yet," Stiles argued, getting up to grab the scissors. "It's so wrecked now I wouldn't even use it for rags. If you want to keep your shirts, stop getting stabbed."

Derek groaned, knowing Stiles would see the 'BHHS lacrosse' that was printed onto the sleeve and front. Even with the blood.

 

"Shit, did something get worse?" Stiles asked instantly, hurrying back over. "Are you healing wrong?"

"I'm...okay..." Derek panted, giving Stiles a shaky smile.

"Yeah, no, I'm getting that shirt off you," Stiles said firmly, craning his head so he could see what he was doing as he began to cut up the side. "If there's something in those wounds, that's gonna fuck you up."

"Favorite shirt," Derek complained, more to himself than to Stiles. Great, now he had to steal something else that smelled like Stiles. 

"It's  _my_  shirt," Stiles said, rolling his eyes. "You stole it after the last time I had to patch you up."

"Still," Derek grumbled. "Favorite."

"You're ridiculous," Stiles muttered. "Alright, we're gonna lift up the towel now so I can get your shirt out of the way."

Derek winced as he moved his arm, that one fracture still healing. "Kay." 

Stiles peeled the shirt away from Derek's skin, grimacing as it broke the layer of dried blood that was starting to scab around the edges of the gaping wounds. "Oh god," he said faintly, staring up at the ceiling and swallowing hard. "I think I just saw your intestine."

Derek looked down. "Just my spleen," he murmured. "Healing though."

"Fucking Christ, you know what your spleen looks like," Stiles said incredulously. "What the fuck is your life, dude. Why the  _fuck_  do you know what your  _spleen_  looks like?" It's possible he was starting to get a bit hysterical.

"Basic human...anatomy," Derek said dryly. "But...yeah."

"I can't deal with this." Stiles shut his eyes, overwhelmed. He had to breathe through his mouth because the smell of blood was so strong. 

Derek reached out with his cleaner hand, gently curling it around Stiles' wrist. "I'm...okay."

"You can't even  _talk!_ " Stiles argued. "You're oozing blood all over my bed - I've had to buy an entirely new set of towels because you have  _bled_  on  _everything I own!_   _This is not okay, Derek!"_

"I'm alive," Derek forced out. "I'll be...okay. Healing."

"And what about next time?" Stiles asked quietly, turning his back and opening up his first aid kit for bandages to replace the damn towel. "What about next time, Derek? What if there had been three instead of two? What if they'd had a pack with them? What happens when you get yourself into a situation you can't get out of because you never call for damn back-up?" Stiles' voice cracked, but he ignored it. "How long is it going to be before you come here and I can't do enough?"

"Sti--" Derek frowned, reaching out toward Stiles. "Didn't know. If there was...more than one...would have called. Had to...keep you safe. All of you."

"Stop talking, Derek." Stiles bent his head, turning his attention to wiping Derek's wounds clean and bandaging them closed. His healing would do the rest, if he gave it the time and resources to do so. "Stay here," Stiles ordered, grabbing the pile of bloody wipes and bandage wrappers. "Don't you dare move before I get back."

"Sir yes sir," Derek grumbled, laying his head back on the pillow and watching Stiles, eyes still glowing red.

 

Stiles took the rubbish downstairs more to give himself some space to think than anything else, although while he was there he realised Derek would need fluids to replace all that blood. He grabbed a cup, a straw, and a carton of juice straight from the fridge, taking a deep breath before heading back up to his room. 

Derek was watching the door, his eyes half closed as he breathed deeply, sucking in Stiles' scent to help anchor himself. Healing was always an unpleasant feeling, somehow itchy and stinging at the same time, like a thousand fire-ant bites.

"You can do this," Stiles breathed soundlessly, bracing himself. It never got easier. "He needs you." Swallowing, he re-entered his room. "What's your favourite drink, Derek?" he asked. "Trick question, it's orange juice. You're drinking as much of this as you can to replace all this damn blood. Don't sit up." 

Derek blinked. "Then how am I supposed to drink it?" he managed to ask without having to pause.

"Bendy straw," Stiles said promptly, putting the cup down on the bedside table and pouring some juice into it. "You're lucky I didn't bring you a sippy cup."

"Bababa," Derek deadpanned, wrinkling his nose. "God, it itches," he grouched, knowing that hearing him actually talk without problems might help calm Stiles down. His rapid heartbeat was concerning.

"It  _itches?_ " A wave of tangled fear and relief and  _anger_  overcame Stiles, and he threw his hands in the air. "Well, God forbid you fucking  _itch_  after you almost get fucking  _killed_!" he hissed. "Stop making light of this!"

Derek blinked up at him, slowly trying to sit up. "Stiles. It itches because it's _healing_."

"Lie the  _fuck_  down!" Stiles exclaimed. "You'll rip your wounds open and your fucking  _guts_  will fall out!"

Derek watched Stiles carefully, laying back down, but reaching out to grab his hand. "Stiles. I'm okay. I'm healing," he tried, hoping to calm the frantic heartbeat he could hear, the panic drenching Stiles' scent.

Stiles shook his head, taking a few deep breaths. "It's  _not_  okay," he said quietly. "Your passive suicidal tendencies are fucking disturbing, dude, and maybe no one else has put it together, but I sure as hell have. You get yourself hurt over and over again, taking risks you don't have to take. You never pick the safer option for yourself, only for other people. I don't know if you like the pain, or you're punishing yourself, or you don't want to live anymore, or you just don't give a shit, but it so incredibly far from okay, and the fact that you think walking away with scars makes it fine is even worse. You  _can't keep doing this_ , Derek."

Derek felt like he'd just been smacked in the face. He hadn't thought anyone had..."I'm sorry," he murmured. "I just..." He tried to think of a way to explain why he did things the way he did. "It's my fault. The fire. And I won't have my pack... Not again. I can't..." He shook his head. "I deserve it. For what happened." He didn't deserve a pack, friends, family...love.

Stiles collapsed onto a chair, grabbing the nightstand so he didn't roll away from the bed. "What happened wasn't your fault," he said firmly, both relieved and dismayed that Derek had admitted it, "and this isn't necessary to keep us safe."

"My fault," Derek repeated, his eyes flicking away. "I have to keep you safe. The pack..."

"We'll be alright," Stiles promised gently. "If you  _tell_  us when there's a threat around, we can work together to deal with it. We'll all keep  _all_  of us safe."

 

"It's not like I matter..." Derek trailed off, sighing. 

Stiles' mouth dropped open. "...you think you don't  _matter?"_  he squeaked.

Derek looked up, confusion on his face at Stiles' reaction. "Yes...?"

"How can - how could you not  _matter?"_  Stiles sputtered. "You're our fucking alpha!"

Derek nodded. "And that's why I keep you safe."

"Ugh." Stiles threw his hands up in frustration. "Drink your juice, you idiot. Sacrifice isn't the same thing as protection." 

"If it means you're safe, then yes. It does," Derek grumbled, chewing a bit on the end of the straw before drinking down the juice.

"You have this stupid zero-sum logic about people getting hurt," Stiles said, shaking his head. "Threats don't equal some set amount of injury. You don't automatically reduce everyone else's injury by taking it on yourself."

Derek just grunted, watching Stiles closely. "When it comes between me and you..."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Would taking Boyd with you tonight have got  _me_  hurt? No? Then I call bullshit."

"Who's to say it wouldn't have? I won't have you hurt, Stiles!" Derek sat up slowly, wincing. "I refuse to have you hurt!"

"No, Derek!" Stiles argued. "This? This is not an acceptable consequence. You say you'll heal? Well, so will I, given time. I'd rather have some scars than spend every night wondering if you're going to die when I'm not looking!" 

"You're much easier to kill, Stiles, I don't want you dead!" Derek growled, his eyes flashing.

"You say that, but look at you!" Stiles exclaimed, sweeping his hand to encompass the bandages, the bloodied towel, the discarded shirt. "I've been in hospital, what, twice since you met me? But this happens to you practically every month!"

"Better me than you!" Derek shifted to put his feet on the floor, though he didn't stand up.

"You say that of the two of us I'm easier to kill, but goddammit, Derek, that's only true if you're  _trying_  to stay alive!" Stiles yelled. "You don't get to fucking die on me!"

 

Derek looked at Stiles in shock, vaguely realizing he could hear the front door closing, the Sheriff giving them privacy. God, that talk was going to be awkward. "I'm _trying_ to make sure you don't end up dead, that the pack doesn't end up dead."

"Well, you're doing a fucking shitty job of it!" Stiles jumped up and started pacing. "We  _need_  you. Not as a meat shield, as our  _alpha_. What do you think would happen if you left us alone? We need you  _alive_." 

Derek watched Stiles pace, his hands laying in his lap. He didn't say anything, knowing that Stiles was built up to a rant, that he needed to let it out, the fear that filled his scent.

"All this?" Stiles gestured at the open window. "Being part of a pack in an actively contested territory? It's terrifying. We've survived through luck as much as anything else, because it's taken so damn long for us to get our acts together. And it's not surprising, okay? It's not surprising that a bunch of teenage ex-humans don't really know how to be a werewolf pack! But you know what we  _have_  figured out? Everything,  _everything_  is a pack problem. When my dad was starting to think I was an actual criminal, that was a pack problem. When Boyd almost lost his job because he missed shifts without enough warning, that was a pack problem. When Scott had to retake math over the summer, that was a pack problem. Because if we  _don't_  bring them to the pack, they affect the pack  _anyway_ , and maybe if we put our fucking heads together we can  _help!_  Lack of communication has  _always_  worked against us. One of us going off on their own has  _always_  made problems for the rest. You are not  _separate_  to the damn pack, Derek! We need you with us. You can't keep pulling this shit."

Derek pursed his lips. "I had to keep you safe," he said quietly.

"You're like a broken record, you know that?" Stiles muttered, shaking his head. "Derek, how are you going to keep me safe if you're dead?"

Derek's eyes flicked up to lock onto Stiles'. Honestly, that hadn't occurred to him.

Stiles slumped. "You didn't think of that, huh," he said wryly.

Derek shook his head. "No, I didn't." He didn't try to deny it. It wasn't like Stiles couldn't see the surprise on his face. 

"Safety for this pack isn't a single battle you can win, Derek," Stiles murmured. "It's a life of us all persevering to  _build_  something."

"I can't lose you. I can't lose them," Derek tried to explain, pain on his face.

Stiles leaned forward, taking Derek's hand and squeezing it. "We can't lose you either."

Derek curled his hand around Stiles' tightly. "No. You don't understand," he murmured. "I can't lose _you_."

 

Stiles blinked silently for a moment. "I matter that much to you?"

Derek looked back up. "You mean everything to me," he admitted. In for a penny, in for a pound...

"Oh." Stiles searched Derek's face. "You...why?"

Derek flushed, looking away. "You're amazing. And...because I...care for you."  

"You do?" Stiles asked shakily.

Derek nodded, tilting his head afterwards. "Are you okay?" he whispered, breathing deeply.

"What?" Stiles said. "I'm fine."

"You sound shaky." Derek tugged him close, intent on sniffing out any injury.

Stiles yelped. "Dude, you're still healing!" he objected.

"Yeah, but I'm okay." Derek grinned, leaning forward to drag in Stiles' scent. "Why were you so shaky?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "You're supposed to politely ignore that," he pointed out, "and seriously, lie down."

Derek grumbled, finally laying back down, but not letting go of Stiles' hand. "You've never expected me to be polite before."

"Yeah, well, I live in hope," Stiles muttered, looking over Derek's abdomen and trying to figure out if he'd split anything back open.

"More itching than pain," Derek reassured him. "I'm healing."

" _Healing_  doesn't mean  _healed_ ," Stiles scolded lightly. "One day you're going to pass out from pushing yourself too hard too fast, I know you will."

"And then I fully expect the 'I told you so, Sourwolf' lecture I'll get each time," Derek promised.

"I'd  _prefer_  it if you didn't do it at  _all_ ," Stiles replied. 

"I know, but I need to keep you safe. The pack safe. And I don't always realize I'm pushing too far," Derek admitted.

"Then listen to us," Stiles murmured, cupping Derek's cheek. " _Talk_  to us. Let us help you."

Derek leaned into the touch, sighing softly. "I can't promise it'll happen. But I can promise to try," he said quietly.

"I guess that'll have to do," Stiles said. "And hey, ask me on a date sometime."

Derek gave him a startled look. "You'd...want that?" he asked hesitantly.

Stiles smiled. "Let's try."

Derek nodded. "I want to try," he murmured, tugging Stiles close, eyes locked on his face.

Stiles stroked Derek's cheek a little with his thumb. "Not until you're healed up, though, okay?"

"Kay," Derek said. "Almost healed anyway." He gave Stiles a small smile.

"Good," Stiles said firmly. "I want your insides to  _stay_  inside."

"Deal." Derek grinned, leaning forward to kiss Stiles' cheek.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short piece to get us around some writer's block - we hope you all enjoyed it!


End file.
